linkage

This morning  I had breakfast with a brotherfriend. We talked about family and kingdom and community and ate at this great place here in the ville. Somewhere in the course of our chat I realized that I could link to friends that I have who are doing great things related to community and kingdom and also have blogs. You’ll find these links to the right. Check them out!

Jess

Act Here Love Now

Friends: Meet some other friends of mine. They’re incredible women and I’ve been so blessed by the little pieces of their journey I’ve gotten to see.  Check out what they’re doing and throw them some funding.  Act Here Love Now

Truly,

Jess

 

Justice Sounds Like

Hopelessness engulfed me; waters of a dark and lofty sea. I succumbed to floating just below the space where still water and the raging battle meet. I don’t know how to fight. Going to war with heart that knows no rest is a constant threat of steady death. One night a few years ago I was exposed to violence and injustice that surpassed the oppression of my own heart. I saw prisoners of twisted sexuality. I found out about little girls and women forced to be a part of things that kill the spirit and maim the flesh. I was shown images of women locked away in treacherous rooms where they were kept imprisoned with drugs and threats. Will we witness evil and look away? Will we turn our heads and sigh and say what a shame? Who can look on poverty driven violence and not barrage God for answers and relief? Who can walk amoung humanity crushed by sin and not seek comfort?The response of a tender heart is to weep when others weep…

Tremble with revelation of the same terror that another is unsheltered from. Cry over the death proclaimed and life profaned by weak men. Scream because you know living when it goes on without light. Weep enough tears and you will run out of moisture in your eyes. Lay on the ground beneath the burden of injustice for long enough and you will not be able to laugh or smile or even breathe. Try to take a breath when every voice in your head is the haunting reminder that souls are living dead. Mourn for those who are mourning!

This was how my heart unfolded as I began to understand the reality of human trafficking and all the evil that takes place in the buy and sell of human life. Trying to enter into divine compassion for injustice is exhausting and consuming. My passionate attempts to educate turned heads ended in frustration. I got really tired of shouting to nonchalant ears and running into doors that just wouldn’t move. I got really tired of crying. Really tired of wet eyes and snot and feeling pain. I got so tired. So, so weary of attempting to defend a cause that I didn’t see the solution to. Compassion enters in. Compassion sits in the dirt and looks at wounds and holds hurting hands and says “I’m sorry”. Salvation becomes the slain. Therin we discover the gap between human unction for social action and divine insight into human need. I am not salvation. I am not another’s hiding place, I’m just a hand and heart willing to journey through the valleys of weeping. How difficult it is to bear anothers burdens without being crushed. Attempting to empathetically relate to the sorrow of the human race without having your soul anchored in truth and hope will bring you down like a swift disease. In my melancholic proclivity I deeply touched the woe of an age old reality. I tried to empathize with the horror that those enslaved experience without fixing my eyes on the person who holds the keys to humanities healing. Exhausted I resigned myself to a indolent existence detached from the battle raging in the water just above my head. To keep from drowning in misery I had to just look away from the face of the abused.
This has been me for the past 12 months. Fatigued resignation. The darkness of injustice became the preoccupation of my heart. I used to weep and snot up the floor for the girls next door. I used to sob and plead for intervention of abused body parts and vulnerable hearts. Used to spend hours in intercession that the tragedy of vile behavior unrestrained might be broken. Really I was wailing for myself and really I was addressing the soreness of my own fallen soul. I was awakening to the wrongness of selfishness and crying out for salvation from an isolated self.

Thanks to a friend and leader I’ve recently realized that its time for me to leave the grief of my childhood behind. Its time to bury the dead man. Its time to shake the shame of what I’ve been subjected to and made. Its time to call this day its own; newness made and newness sewn. We are not what vindication we bring. No, we are the objects of love and love’s defense will be made.

I want my being completey surrendered to the knowledge of God. I want every train of thought and every plateau of my soul to be a resonance chamber for the beauty and worthiness of Jesus to resound. I want to meditate on goodness and mercy as diligently as I sink and rise to eat. I want the words embodying truth to be carved into my memory as ink is sewn beneath the skin. Can I give myself up to you anymore? Can I fill myself with more of God? Can I possibly be a canyon where the intricacies of your thoughts go forth as anthems? Can my heart hold or simply touch the cadence of the voice like waters? Can I be filled with the sights and sounds of heaven’s throne?

I’m learning to fix my eyes on hope…the gap between the needs of man and God has been bridged, we just aren’t aware of the implications of divinity in the body of a man. I’m not aware. yeah. Sorry for the awkward paragraph transition that is about to take place but I’m too lazy and too nauseous from this bumpy train to create better flow between my thoughts.
……..What fuels our unwillingness to give up comfort and wealth to pursue help for those of us who are continuing onward in a living hell. Need I paint a picture of dusty desolation? I think most of us have become numb to naked children and raw suffering. Most of us have to turn our eyes away from evangelistic television programs because our children havn’t eaten their dinner just yet and our homes beg for some domestic attention. I think I’m unearthing a common wall between hearts that are willing to embrace compassion and that actual embrace taking place. What do we do? I put myself in the shoes of suburban mommas and make a mental list of all their day demands. How can a faithful PTA mom extend her already busy hands to nurture the face, the heart of another child? How do we mobilize degree-seeking, identity-bankrupt twenty somethings to throw their lives into transformative compassion? I can’t move on someone elses behalf unself I know that my back is covered. If I’m no one unless I have that sacred diploma behind my name then how can I address the identity questions of entire nations? I can’t. Social justice is impossible without Jesus. Social justice requires God. If my contribution to some well meaning 3rd world development organization depends on how it affects my reputation then I may never be freed to give myself away. I need to see hope more clearly.

FLICKA.
Thanks for reading and letting me be super raw. I wish I was eloquent but these are the only sounds I know how to make. Anyways. This is what I’m processing right now….
thoughts?

Jess

from sea to sun to cold rivers

February has been a glorious month. I turned 20 on groundhogs day! 20 feels so nice. My wonderful Malmö family bought me a gorgeous strawberry cheesecake from the best little cafe in town and  it was a generally lovely day. I spent a week in Norway with my friends the Reads and from Oslo we flew into Barcelona, Spain. Due to some prior arrangements our apartment needed to be available to a Korean music group and so our entire household dispersed throughout Finland, Latvia, Sweden and Poland for about two weeks.  The Reads and I hadn’t made plans beyond a week in Frederikstad, Norway but God individually spoke to all 3 of us about Barcelona and a random friend expressed to Josh & Bec that he felt God had something for them in Spain…..so we booked flights. Spain was so far off our radar and for me the excitement was euphoric. We ended up connecting with some folks who were studying a manual that Josh and Bec were involved with developing in Tacoma, Washington; small worlds collide. The couple leading this study group had been asking God to send someone from Tacoma to help them through some of the material during the same couple days God was speaking to us about Barcelona in our little norwegian cabin. The Reads had to opportunity to hang out with and pour into the local leadership. So that was cool to watch unfold. I enjoy “connect the dots.”

Spain is wonderful. I enjoyed using some spanish and learning about the Catalan language.  I asked God to make it possible for me to go sailing, and for  a guitar as I don’t have the money for one. Neither of those requests manifested but I did spend a day along the harbor and I so appreciated the musicians who plunked down with their little 15 watt amps in the metro or alleyways.  Metro tunnels seem like bad places to busk as there isn’t really anywhere to stand/sit and listen and most of your audience is bustling off at 90 miles an hour. There were some amazing guitarists and I enjoyed listening in spite of the awkwardness of being the only person to stop and listen… The space between you and the musician closes in and becomes not just public space but personal space where someone is sharing their song or, often someone else’s song they’ve made their own. You’re there letting them be and throwing coins at them for being. Its sometimes awkward because you’re not just a head in a music hall but you’re  a soul that recognizes something beautiful in another and acknowledges it with the toss of a bit of change into a dirty guitar case or hat. sometimes awkward. but good.

Traveling is an eye opening adventure and I enjoy it but the best part of the last three weeks was getting to spend quality time with Josh and Bec and their kids. Thats my favorite. I love ‘the tribe.’ …I love massive togetherness with loads of people…. I also really need the times of intimacy with just a few friends. Fellowship like that tremendously blesses my heart. yeahhhh. so good!

Back in malmö now. Norway was bitter cold. Spain was refreshingly warm and our river canal here has frozen over again. My body is freaking out. anyways. I’ve been thinking a little about art, creative unction and craft. Over the years I’ve had creative ebb and flow – inspiration come and go. Sometimes I have such an unction to do work and express things. There have been seasons in all kinds of different mediums most of which I’m not inclined towards right now. I brought my graphite set and some paints with me and have done only a few really amateur pieces. I’m not much inclined to express or capture through graphite. What I do have is an unction to capture moments with my digital camera. I like photographs because they allow us to look into each others lives. They provide a way for us to look on another human in their being. They tell us something about our hearts. I like to capture whats beautiful and purely aesthetic but I also like to grab those moments of mundane, daily normalcy.  I like to catch the places and things that we interact with everyday when nothing especially special is happening, but we’re living and asking questions and dealing with our annoyances & frustrations and trying to learn what it looks like for hearts to flourish.

In Spain I was wrestling with my artistic process and trying to figure out why I’ve been rather blocked lately. I realized that I am a critical,  judgemental person and that my sense of wonder isn’t very fine tuned. I tend to observe other people’s creative work rather fleetingly.  I was able to see my own heart and the judgementalism and lack of appreciation that seems to dominate my perception of others people’s work. Little thoughts often creep into my heart belittling the images I capture or challenging the significance of the words I put together. I find myself in a state of derision towards myself and other artists. These thoughts kill creative output.

My identity and sense of value has caused me to be creatively shut down for many years. I’ve believed that my life is insignificant and that it doesn’t really matter if I write songs or draw stuff. The conviction of worthlessness that once bound my soul led me to idleness, depression and self destruction. We have a maker and we need to be reminded of the dignity that has been bestowed upon human life. We matter to the creator. God is loving and every good thing that is comes from the center of his being. He’s watching our lives; cringing at the destruction we release on each other and at the same time he’s bringing his boots down to the rhythm of our songs. Art is how we converse with society. Society can be super rude and discouraging but if love is unconditional, then loving our communities means sharing our pain, sharing our crafts, sharing our money and our songs. It means listening a whole lot and speaking words that cause hearts to flourish.

I need revival inside. I’m not going to look back. I’m looking forward and running and resting and laughing a whole lot. Laughing is ahhhh my favorite. I’m still cultivating a sense of humor. but yes. laughter saves the heart.

Its 1 am…..

I love you all and  can’t wait to reconnect with some of you in Virginia in March!

Jess

i’m. working. on this.

Your roar makes green shoots spring up dry forest quakes its enlived enlived

I know a man so full of light that boughs blossom out beneath the shadow of his frame

the very shadow passing over fallen branches of ancient trees gone to decay

once again the laden limb is seen under the shadow

dry forest again ablaze with bloom by the release of his breath in a word

I know a man so full of light that his very shadow renders life

i know a man

i know a man

the avian choir tells of a son whose heart burns like a raging fire

sings the avian choir

like a raging fire

i know a man

i know a man

thoughts from a walk

hey big dipper, hey little star, do you know who hung you

do you whisper in your twinklings of God, neither far nor near?

do you whisper of the one who painted blackness

do you brightly clearly sing of creations crowned one?

hey little green blades and crusty trunks, do you dance a still dance of resonate praise?

do you sway to express that he’s in a good mood,

do you lean in to hear the rustling grass whisper

‘infinitely close infinitely here’

 

 

We are the social architects.

 

The recent events in North Africa have got me thinkin’. Last night a group of friends gathered in our  living/dining everything room to drink brewed coffee, eat sticky buns and inquire of Abba on behalf of the nations. We sat around and prayed for north african nations. I was still and quiet and listening. What to say. I want to steward my days and moments in such a way that when I gather with others to seek council for the kingdom I have insight to bring to the table. I’m asking myself some questions. How do I live in such a way that God will entrust insight & understanding to me?

Through wars and conflict, civil unrest and tyranny, through oppression, social deterioration and poverty we’v e got to recognize something.  We need a king.  We’re so used to injustice and human depravity…its truly the norm. I, you, we need to remember that our souls weren’t meant to dwell in such states. We need a social restructuring. We need the character of the only only one found worthy. Things just won’t be right until the Son of Man is on the throne. There will be threads of glory and places where life is flourishing but the nations won’t know peace until Jesus establishes His government. I am beginning to see that God is proving to humanity that nothing will be right until a man who is God is King of the earth. I’m so elementary in understanding but my heart is alive and my spirit is in awe. So thats a good start.

We’re so accustomed to poverty. Africa continues on in famine and social dysfunction and we’re used to thinking of her that way.  What does it take to see total upheaval and revolution and transformation in Africa? Where are the men and women of insight? Why haven’t answers to Africa’s need been unearthed? Why are people still suffering from aids? I don’t even really know how to talk about this stuff. I haven’t seen much of it firsthand. I’ve mostly just seen soulish poverty. Does western poverty of soul create physical poverty for the east?

We are the cultural frontiersmen. We are the social architects. We are a panel of dreamers. So lets dream.

I want to be such a person. I want insight into excellence and glory. I want to pray heaven down. I want to be a throne gazer.  Some values need to shift in my heart.

I also want to dialogue with people about all this. Message me your thoughts friends!!!

I love you

Today I climbed onto a bus heading home from a morning spent enjoying the brisk air downtown and chai in a super sleek coffee joint. My roomate and I plopped down into neighboring seats that faced the rear of the vehicle. A broad framed man with olive skin, midnight black hair and strong bone structure was leaning over the head of the row of seats facing us. His gaze was unsteady and somewhat distant. He began flirting with us in Swedish and then switched to english when he heard us respond. Upon hearing that we were from the United States; and one of us Texas he sneared and began raging at us. “I HATE Americans. I hate you. I hate you. I hate this state Texas. I hate this state and this Bush family. I hate Americans!!! I’ll slit the throats. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill Americans because you killed my brother. You killed my father.” Pointing his finger at us he began to run the pointer of his other hand across his neck. “I’ll slit your throats.”

I began softly apologizing over and over with “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive us.”

He looked in my eyes and said “I am from Iraq. My father was a colonel. My brother was an officer. You killed them. Forgive? I hate Americans. I will kill americans. Who asked you to come to my country? WHO ASKED YOU?! He was yelling at us and hanging over the top of the row of seats. In between accusations he would pause and look into my eyes waiting for a response. I just kept offering “I’m sorry…” and with each apology he would respond in more accusations. “My brother was 22. TWENTY TWO. You are the reason my life is ruined by drugs. I’m in a gang. I’m druggie.”

 

By this time there was no strength within me to withhold the watershed of tears and I was desperately pleading with him to forgive me. I looked in his eyes with wet cheeks, feeling his wounds as if they were my own. “Its horrible. I’m sorry.” I saw violent anger. I saw such deep pain and anguish. No words. He softened and extened his massive hand towards with me an open palm. I reached out and for brief moments I held the hand of this man who’s heart is a festering wound of rage and loss. He was now attempting to comfort me? What was happening? I was losing it and momentarily unaware of the people who were watching this unfold between us. For those moments when we held each others hands I was ignorant of anyone but him and I. For those moments somehow all I knew was the pain of losing a brother, of finding my fathers body with an entire pistol embedded into the flesh of his hip. Somehow I was that tall, beautiful Iraqi man reeling in the death of his blood. I was crying for his  sorrow, his heartache.  Somehow I was not at all afraid but just in love. He stopped speaking and said “We can talk. We can be friends. I’ll give you my number.” I handed him my moleskin and he scribbled his number into it. He hurried to the hissing doors almost missing his stop and watched us roll away. His eyes were sad and confused. He looked at me with a softened disapproval.

This all took place so quickly. I moved from shock to empathy to sorrow in just a few moments. I saw a 27 year old man who has been wronged. Who has wronged.

 

I don’t know if we will meet again, I don’t know if we will ever have a conversation about the king that I follow and the kingdom that I have given my loyalty to. All I know is that I hope and pray that my friend will find the strength to forgive and acknowledge the power of love.

 

I don’t have a point to make. I am just reeling from this experience. I’m in awe of what happened in my own heart. I’m so in awe of Jesus. He is a holy ruckus within me. He is gentleness and tenderness and compassion and everything beautiful. Today demons raged in my face and I wasn’t phased by it. Today I held the hand of a strung out man who may or may not have such darkness in him that he would actually take another man’s life. I just think of Him as my brother who is hurting.  Something is happening in my heart. This seems so natural and obvious and yet so foreign.

 

How did I ever live any other way? I’m finding a better way to live. I’m finding life.  I don’t know how I went on this long without this much Jesus. and I still don’t have much. This man didn’t walk away knowing the one that I know. Why didn’t I get off at his stop with Him? Why didn’t I get on my knees and make mud on the sidewalk with my tears? Why didn’t I beg him to let go of his bitterness? I didn’t know what else to do. How does a slender blonde girl go about loving a guy who could break her with his fist? Where was the power over darkness in that moment? Did I do everything I could do?

 

I’ve cried torrents over victims of trafficking and slavery. I’ve been moved by Jesus’ heart for people. I’ve lain on the ground under the burden of injustice. I’ve been there. Its good and its pleasing and it ministers to his heart… but somehow I’m just not satisfied. I want to see people released from their torment. I want power to be released in my life to break the bonds of darkness and set the captives free. Its not enough for me to enter into empathy. Its good but its so not enough. I want souls to be broken open when I come into contact with them. I want their lives to actually change. I want social restructuring. I want something that I have only heard about.

 

I don’t even know.

 

Christmas Eve it finds me

More often than not I forget who I am and what my inheritance is. We’re in such great need of the spirit that quickens  our sense of wonder and awakens our sleepy eyelids. We’re so SO quick to forget  how we came to be. God of light and truth would you take up residence in every sleepy shadow of my soul. Oh I long for the great exchange to become greater within me. My inheritance is this peaceful man who gazes through my bone structure and smiles on the posture of my heart. He’s pleased with our free will. He loves to be chosen by love. This is your inheritance as well as mine.

Its the great exchange

the back and forth

the me and you and whats in between.

This terrible tension of coming close and burning and being pulled by sinewed palms further into a fiery gaze. I usually cower beneath that gaze. I usually hide my face and run HARD for something comfortable. From time to time I’m able to lift my eyes and gaze back and when that happens I weep. I weep and worship and dance within.

This is honesty. I’d like to think that my weeks are composed of daily looking at one who loves me and taking sweet delight in Him. That simply isn’t how I live though. I live with eyes mostly fixed on my hurt and my hands’ lack of skill. The truth is I mostly avoid the man who loves me. I dart in and out of the flames because I have yet to understand that if I will just LET HIM take my hand I won’t  be burned alone.

Morning marches up the coast faithfully and I wake up falling down. Most days I wake up with my heart strung down a dark well. I am beating my body on what seems to be a barricade of indestructible stones. I’m running up and down this endless wall that I can’t climb or hack through. This wall must give way or I will die. I’ve come to this place where I can’t live without love’s hand covering mine and yet sometimes it seems like He has withdrawn his grasp. I am so helpless without the shoulders of Holy Ghost. I cannot live without the power of His Name and yet I usually can’t even find the vocal strength to whisper a prayer.  I MUST HAVE JESUS. I must have His life in my soul. Give me this man and the nuances of his character. Give me every inflection of his voice. Give me every single angle of his perception. Give me a place knit deeply into His side and make those seams with threads of iron.

I MUST HAVE JESUS. GIVE ME HIM AND HIS DREAMS OR TAKE ME FROM EARTH. I do not desire to go on with a soul full of nothing. I cannot exist another moment under the repeating soundtrack of brittle, dead thoughts.

I’m just so lovesick. I’m running all over the place trying to get next to this man. Now and then I catch His gaze ; that used to sustain me for a day or two but its not enough anymore. I’m so tired of running.

Its Christmas Eve and I’m spending the evening crying over a book that I don’t understand and  man that I don’t know. I’m terribly overcome by the treasure of a man that He is and my desire for Him. Deep breath. This entry was supposed to catch all of you up on the last few weeks of my life and the adventure that I’m about to have in Finland but I don’t have much to say about any of that. The picture is from earlier today before I lost my composure. I promised my mother I would write all about Kona and the things I’m going to be doing in Scandinavia but that will come soon enough.

Search for the man and pray that God would open our eyes to the divine romance going down all around us. We are but breaths crossing a misty field called time. Our lives are fragile raindrops soon enough splattering before eternity. Pray that He would strip our leathery hearts of dullness so that we can perceive the bridegroom God who is wooing our souls.

Love the Man and love the lives that intersect yours.

Merry Christmas.

Jess

this is something i scribbled down last night.  it wants to be a song.

Love from Kona. I’ll blog about whats going on here soon.

Jess

i’d like for you to carve a canyon with your hand

carve it through my heart

i’d like for you to carve a canyon with your hand

walls cut well every crevice to your pleasing

hew out hollow bends removing debris and stone

hew out rough edges and dammed up passages

hew out a canyon with your hand.

I’d like for you to carve a canyon with your hand

carve it through my heart.

hew out a riverbed whose walls are unrestrained

hew out deep banks and intricate  crannies

make my soul as the banks of your river

i’d like for waters to gush and flow

torrents race they tumble through

carve a canyon in my heart

on the banks of which life will grow.

Pines and apples and strong red oaks.

seedlings will spring up green and lush.

hew out a riverbed whose walls are unrestrained

hew out deep banks and intricate  crannies

make my soul like pleasing valley for the river life to flow through

make my soul

make my soul

make my soul like a canyon

make room for resonance